


A little white lie

by DracoIgnis, Dragon_and_Direwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bromance, Crack, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Greece, Holidays, Humor, Massage, Pining, Rimming, Sex, Vacation, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26992003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf
Summary: Singleton Jon is excited to win a holiday in Greece - until he realises it's for couples only. His best friend Grey agrees to play the part in exchange for an all inclusive trip. But it's hard to pretend to be in love when someone like Daenerys is your new masseuse.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 53
Kudos: 354





	A little white lie

As they entered the hotel room, Jon stopped and stared. Written in rose petals across the bed was: CONGRATULATIONS MR & MR! He barely had time to read it; seconds later, Grey had thrown himself onto the duvet, causing the red leaves to scatter through the air like confetti.

“Vacation time, baby!” Grey shouted and kicked off his white sneakers with a big grin. “We made it, Jon! Can you believe it?” His friend reached for the minibar and Jon, still hesitating at the threshold as his eyes scanned the room - ice bucket with champagne, box of chocolates by the jacuzzi, a pink card detailing _couples entertainment_ \- tiredly thought:

_No, I can’t believe it._

The whole thing felt like a _joke._ Jon had been drunk when he filled out random surveys online that would give him the chance of winning anything from kitchen knives to a helicopter ride above New York City. He never imagined actually _getting_ anything.

_Especially not a holiday in the sun,_ Jon thought as he slowly trudged over to the windows and stared outside. The view that greeted him was stunning; a wooden terrace with sun loungers, a glimmering private pool, and there, just on the other side of a small fence, the Greek beach - dunes of sand, foamy waves, rugged mountains in the horizon. It was hot. It was amazing. _It was fraud,_ Jon thought, feeling sweat running down his back.

Grey waved at him from behind the door of the fridge. “Dude, there’s, like, six cans of beer in here. _For free.”_

“Time out,” Jon said, tapping his hands together, “we need to talk this through.”

“We won’t need this,” Grey continued, throwing a bottle of water into the bin before rummaging through their plastic bags from Duty Free. He pulled out handfuls of mini-bottles of liquor and started filling every drawer as he gleefully whistled: “We’re going to be _wasted.”_

_“Time out,”_ Jon begged, his voice slightly desperate. He picked the water out of the bin, unscrewed the lid, and had a sip. He was parched. He wondered if he was already getting sunburnt. His whole body was buzzing as he sunk down onto the edge of the bed and watched his friend stack miniature _Grey Goose_ in order to fit as much into the space as possible. “Remember, this is not just some lads’ holiday-”

“I hope not!” Grey interrupted and sent him a knowing look. “I expect ladies to frequent this room.”

“-it’s a _couples’ holiday,”_ Jon finished. “I told you; one of the conditions of this win was that it’s for couples _only._ As long as we’re in this resort, we’re together.” He paused. _“In love,”_ he added.

“Did they say that, or did you just make that one up?”

“Well, it has to be believable. I don’t want to be questioned.”

“Maybe we’re close to breaking up, and this is our attempt at saving the relationship,” Grey mused, “in that way, we wouldn’t _have_ to be so in love.”

“Now you’re just making things up,” Jon protested.

“Oh yeah, because us being together isn’t a lie?” Grey asked, making Jon flush. He grinned and turned to face him, giving his leg a rough pat. “Look, Jon, I’ve got to ask - why did you sign up to a competition for a honeymoon magazine? Surely you must’ve had an inkling that the prize was geared towards, well, _lovers.”_

“I just looked at the pictures,” Jon admitted in a mumble. He peeled at the label on the bottle. It was coming off easily. “It looked nice.”

“It _is_ nice,” Grey nodded, “which is why you shouldn’t feel bad. We get along better than most married couples!”

Jon let go of a short laugh. “That’s true.”

“Hell, we’ve even jerk-”

“You promised to _never_ bring that up again,” Jon said quickly.

“Right.” Grey leaned back against the fridge, arms crossed and brows raised as he smiled at him. “I know you’re anxious, mate, but it’s going to be fine. We’ll do the things they’ve planned for us, and the rest of the time we’ll enjoy the local, ah, _culture.”_

“Museums and churches?” Jon teased with a wry grin.

“You know it,” Grey said and dug his hands into his backpack. He withdrew a little flyer which he handed to Jon. “Alright, _sweetheart,”_ he winked, “let me know what’s on today so we can get it over with and hook up with some real good company. No offence.”

“None taken,” Jon assured him as he snatched the flyer from Grey’s hands. He flipped it open, trying hard not to stare at the handwritten _Mr & Mr Snow _ that had been added to the top of the list, and read: “Tuesday: Start with a luxurious couples' massage.”

“Uhh, do you get to choose your masseuse?” Grey asked.

Jon snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it. I bet it’s a big, hairy guy with an iron grip.”

“Like the guy who works for your dad - what’s his name, _Hector?”_

“Hodor!” Jon laughed. “Yes, that’d be just my luck.”

“Right, let’s do it,” Grey said as he jumped to his feet. He sent Jon a confident nod. “A quick fondle with a stranger, and then off to the beach.”

“Please don’t call it a fondle,” Jon begged as he watched Grey put his shoes back on before trailing after him out of the door. “That’s the last thing I want from a _masseuse!”_

* * *

Or at least, so he thought.

Having changed into robes, they were ushered to the spa where two women in black uniforms greeted them.

“Good afternoon,” they smiled, “Mr and Mr Snow?” and all the guys could do were to nod and stare.

One of the women had smooth, black skin, dark curls, and golden eyes. The other was pale with silver hair and glimmering violet peering through her long lashes. Jon read their names on the tags: Missandei and Daenerys.

“You’re booked in for a lovely couples' massage,” Missandei informed them as she led the way past reception and down a hallway. She was wearing flat shoes. They clapped against the marble flooring. “Have you ever had one before?”

“No,” Jon said, his eyes resting on Daenerys’ back as they walked. She had a narrow waist and a round behind that swayed with every step. When he dragged his gaze back up, he found her looking over her shoulder, smiling. He flushed and quickly stuttered: “Never been to a spa before.”

“I have,” Grey said.

Jon’s eyes snapped to his friend. “You have? _When?”_

“When we were in Thailand,” Grey shrugged. “I found a voucher at the hotel. Thought I’d give it a try. I can’t believe I never told you about it - the girl was _banging.”_ He grinned at Jon but, upon meeting his hard stare, swiftly added: _“Banging_ good at her job.”

“Right,” Jon muttered. He could still sense Daenerys’ eyes on him. Though he made a point of staring at the floor, he couldn’t help but wonder: _it is already obvious?_ The thought of being caught lying was enough to make him sweat, but having seen the hotel, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the bill if the magazine was to withdraw the prize for _fraud._

As if sensing his discomfort, Grey reached out and grabbed Jon’s hand. He gave it an awkward squeeze. “Don’t worry, love,” he said, his voice a bit too loud to be natural, “I only have eyes for you now.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” Missandei said, making Grey beam.

Jon, feeling his ears burn, forced a grin to his face. But his grip on Grey’s hand was so tight that his friend almost yelped.

They were led into a small room with dim lighting, wooden details, and the soothing sound of waves being played over the loudspeakers. Two tables had been placed in the middle with a thin, white sheet covering each of them. Jon glared at the fabric, wondering how see-through it would be, as Grey let go of his hand and stalked over to the corner.

“Is this for us?” he heard his friend ask, and he looked up to see him holding two glasses of sparkling champagne.

“Help yourself to the chocolates as well,” Daenerys offered and gestured to a small bowl next to the drinks, “we will leave you to get settled in.”

“Uhm,” Jon mumbled as the women headed for the door. Daenerys turned on the threshold and sent him a patient look. He tugged at his robe and felt himself flush as he asked: “Are we- well, are we meant to keep this _on?”_

Though her voice remained professional, Jon didn’t miss the teasing glimpse in her eyes when she replied: “Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Mr Snow - though most people prefer to be nude.”

“Nude!” Jon repeated a bit too panicked, making Grey snicker into his champagne.

“Don’t worry,” he said, waving for Daenerys to continue, “I’ll get him sorted.” As soon as she’d left the room and closed the door behind, Grey thrusted the drink into Jon’s hands. “Bottoms up,” he instructed, “or you’ll never get through this.”

_“Nude,”_ Jon repeated with a shake of his head. He did as told - put the glass to his lips and necked the alcohol down. The fizzy liquid tickled his throat. It somehow seemed to cool his head. With a satisfied smack of his lips, he handed back the glass and sighed: “Who the hell goes- _oh.”_

Grey had shrugged out of his robe and stood before him stark naked. He didn’t seem to even notice Jon’s surprised face - he casually grabbed the empty glass out of his hand and placed it back in the corner before climbing up onto one of the tables. “I hope I get the cute one,” he said as he pulled the sheet over himself.

Jon gawked. “Where’s your underwear?” he asked.

Grey, now resting on his elbows, quirked his brows at him. “In the changing room?” he said slowly, as if talking to a child. “Where’s yours?”

“Obviously, I’m wearing them.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re fully clothed.”

“Of course not,” Jon snapped, and he felt obliged to shrug out of his robe to reveal that he’d dressed down to his black briefs. In truth, he’d debated whether to keep on his shorts for the sake of _modesty,_ but now he was grateful he hadn’t. One look at Grey’s face told him that his friend would’ve _never_ let him live the day down if he’d shown up in full swimwear.

As Jon awkwardly climbed onto the other table, Grey rested his chin on his arms with a sigh. “I mean it, though,” he said, his voice slightly dreamy, “I hope I get the cute one.”

“Never thought you were into silver hair,” Jon said, thinking back on Daenerys. He liked her face - sweet smile, teasing eyes - but her body was what drew his eyes. The way her ass stretched out the trousers of her uniform, and her thick thighs rubbed together when she walked. He wondered what she looked like in a bikini. The thought alone made him grateful that he _wasn’t_ naked, and he adjusted himself as he laid down.

Grey scoffed. “I’m not talking about her,” he said, “I mean _Missandei,_ of course.”

“Right,” Jon said. He hadn’t really looked at her. As he tried to recall her face, it was replaced with Daenerys’. Her violet eyes teased his memory. He shuddered and lowered his head as there was a knock on the door.

“Are you gentlemen ready?” Missandei called.

“Ready!” Grey called before Jon had a chance to speak.

As the door creaked open, Jon held his breath. He could hear them moving across the floor; the shuffling of shoes, the fluttering of curtains being pulled tighter, the music being turned up. A new smell seemed to follow; something sweet and herbal, the aroma of different oils filling the air. He stared through the face-hole down at the floor, peering as one of the women stopped in front of him. When she reached out and tugged at his sheet, he caught a glimpse of her hand - pale, with pink fingernails.

Grey must’ve realised at the same time as him. He heard him let go of a small, victorious laugh, almost not audible over the music. When Jon looked toward him, Grey glanced over and gave him a quick thumbs up. “Success,” he mouthed silently.

Jon rolled his eyes and forced himself to look away. His heartbeat was picking up. As Daenerys’ soft palms brushed down across his back for the first time, he shuddered and thought: _I’ll never be able to relax around that guy._

* * *

Half an hour later, Jon had forgotten why he ever worried about _anything._ His skin was warm and slick with oils, and the scent of lime teased his nostrils, and the sound of brushing waves calmed his heart, and every touch from Daenerys’ hands sent him into a deeper state of relaxation. He was happy. He was calm.

He was on the beach. He was laying in the sand. Daenerys was atop of him, her palms brushing his nape, his back, his buttocks. Her hand sought between his legs. He felt her grab around his cock. He could smell her in the air; salt and sunscreen, and taste her on his lips when she whispered:

“Is it okay if I go lower?” and he whispered:

“Yes, please,” and shivered as she sank between his legs. He was wet from the ocean, and she brushed the water aside, touching every inch of him. And she asked:

“Is it okay if I turn you over?” and he replied:

“Yes, please,” feeling his cock throb as he slowly flipped onto his back, his body sinking into the soft sand, his hands brushing across the sheet.

_Sheet._ Jon’s eyes snapped open, and he stared up at Daenerys hovering above him. There was no blinding sun, just the orange glow from the lamp, and the noise he’d mistaken for the crunching of sand was just the paper moving below him. It was wet with oils, not ocean foam. As he slowly woke back up, he could hear Grey chuckling on his left.

“You were _snoring,”_ his friend informed him.

Jon felt his cheeks burn. He glared over at Grey. He was on his back, his outstretched arm being massaged by Missandei. She wasn’t looking up, but in the shadows Jon could see her biting her lower lip. She was holding back a laugh. Grey was less subtle - once he spotted Jon’s red face, he clucked his tongue. “No reason to be embarrassed,” he said before adding: _“But it was loud.”_

“It wasn’t that bad,” Daenerys assured him. She was smiling. Her hands were closed around the sheet as she corrected it over Jon’s chest. “Many people fall asleep during a massage. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I snore too,” Missandei interjected.

“I bet your snore is cute though,” Grey said, earning himself a shy chuckle from his masseuse.

Jon sent him a warning look. “What a thing to say in front of me, _dear.”_

“He’s the jealous type,” Grey told Missandei and shook his head, “always thinks I’m flirting when I’m just, ah, _making acquaintances.”_

“Don’t mind them,” Daenerys said as Grey and Missandei continued chatting. She was smiling down at him kindly, and Jon felt his chest hurt when he looked into her eyes. “It could happen to _anyone.”_

Jon averted his eyes with a silent nod. He found it hard to look at her. It wasn’t just that he was embarrassed about falling asleep - it was what he had _dreamt._ As Daenerys moved behind him and started massaging his shoulders, he found himself clenching his eyes shut not to stare up at her chest hovering above. _What is wrong with me?_ he thought bitterly. _She is doing her job, and that gets me off?_ He felt certain that didn’t happen to just _anyone,_ only a special kind of creep.

“You’re tensing,” Daenerys said, squeezing his shoulders.

Jon cleared his throat and tried to adjust himself. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“You need to let go of all stress,” Daenerys said. “Only think happy thoughts.”

“Right,” Jon said.

“Like you winning this amazing holiday!”

Jon felt like vomiting. Immediately, he imagined a phone call from the magazine, a woman’s voice going: _you’re clearly too excited by a random masseuse to be in love!_ He knew it was a ridiculous thought. He still couldn’t shake it from his mind. He was certain it showed in his body - no matter how hard he concentrated on relaxing, his muscles only seemed to knot up.

Daenerys popped her lips as she continued to apply pressure to his shoulders before gliding her hands down across his chest. In the beginning, Jon had found it calming. Now, her every move seemed tinted with _eroticism._

_It’s all in your head,_ he told himself as Daenerys’ palms brushed past his nipples, down his sides, rolled at his skin. The sheet was moved. It rested at the band of his briefs. _She is just doing her job._ Yet there was something thrilling in the way that her fingertips would brush past his navel, linger at the elastic band, drag at his skin as if she was tugging him out of the fabric. He breathed in sharply. The sound of waves in his ears seemed overwhelming. He almost couldn’t hear her when she asked:

“What are the plans for the week?”

Jon licked his lips. He peered up at her. “Uhm, for the week?” he asked.

“Did they put together a program for you?”

“Oh, right,” Jon blinked, remembering the flyer in the room. “I think dinners, and some activities around the resort. We’ll be spending a lot of time on the beach.”

“Ah, I’m jealous,” Daenerys smiled, “I’m working all week.”

“Too bad. The weather is meant to be amazing.”

“Well, if you get tired of sand and water, you know where to find me,” Daenerys said. It sounded so casual that Jon almost didn’t pick up on her hint at first, not until she brushed her hands down across his legs and glanced up at him, palms on his thigh, her fingertips stretching closer to his groin. “If you would like to release some _tension.”_

Jon stared into her eyes. Daenerys looked back at him. Her face was so professional that he almost thought he’d imagined her speaking those words. But then, just for a second, she smirked, and he swore he could feel his cock harden from her mere presence.

_That’s not what she meant,_ Jon told himself and watched as Daenerys and Missandei both retreated to the end of the tables, their hands working on their legs. _I must have misheard._ In desperation, he glanced toward Grey to see if he had listened in. But his friend looked pale, his brown eyes peering down at Missandei with perplexion. “What?” he asked, making Grey snap back to reality and stare at him. “You look off.”

“I’m fine,” Grey said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Well, _babe,”_ Grey said, making sure to pronounce the endearment loudly. It sounded less teasing this time, almost _frustrated._ “I am just enjoying my massage.”

Jon threw his hands up: “Suit yourself!” and laid back down, trying to relax as Daenerys moved between his legs. But his mind was buzzing. Images of Daenerys on the beach mixed with the Daenerys currently massaging him. As Jon’s eyes fell closed, he found it hard to tell one apart from the other.

* * *

Dinner was served on the beach. Encircled by flickering candles, a private table had been prepared for them; crisp, white tablecloth, bottle of wine, red roses, and a card wishing them _a romantic time away._ Every dish was arranged into a heart. By the time dessert was served, Jon could barely stand the shape anymore. He dragged his brownie through the chocolate sauce with such a speed that the waiter barely had time to put the plate down.

Grey was sipping his wine and staring out across the water. He looked bothered, just like he had at the spa.

Jon stuffed his mouth with the cake and chewed as he eyed him. “You don’t seem like yourself,” he commented.

“I’m thinking,” Grey said.

“Exactly.” Jon put his fork down and grabbed his glass of wine as he surveyed his friend. “The last time you looked so troubled was when two girls asked you to the ball.”

Grey wanted to remain grave, he could tell, but his comment made him smirk. “They were both nice girls,” he said. He put his glass down, ran his tongue around his teeth, and sighed. “At the spa earlier-” he started, but he paused.

Jon perked in his chair. “What about it?” he asked, his voice a bit too excited. Daenerys’ words had followed him all day. They seemed to echo in his mind long after the session had ended. When Jon stood in the showers afterwards, scrubbing oils off his body, he couldn’t help but imagine she was there with him, helping him to satisfy his throbbing cock. “You looked _off_ during the massage. What happened?”

“Well,” Grey started, but he paused again. He was staring at his brownie. When he pushed it aside, it was with a frustrated grunt. “Forget it.”

“What?”

“I think I’m imagining things.”

_“What?”_ Jon’s voice was slightly desperate as he leaned in over the table. When he caught Grey’s eyes, he held his gaze. “What,” he said again, “happened?”

Grey squirmed in his chair. “You know how I liked the look of the cute one, that Missandei?” he asked. “Well, whilst Daenerys was calming you down about the snoring-”

“She wasn’t _calming me down,”_ Jon grimaced.

“Whatever,” Grey said and waved, “whilst you were doing _something,_ we got talking. Just about our trip and such. And she said this weird thing.” He paused.

Jon leaned closer. He was ready to cry _what!_ again, but this time Grey finished:

“She said: _if you ever get lonely, I’d love to give you a private massage.”_ He stared at Jon.

Jon stared back at Grey.

Grey emptied his glass of wine in one gulp and grabbed the bottle with an annoyed smack of his lips. “Forget it!” he said again as he poured the wine. “I knew I was making things up.”

“No-no!” Jon said eagerly. He grabbed the bottle out of Grey’s hands before filling his own glass too. “I know _exactly_ what you mean. When Daenerys was talking to me, she said: _you know where to find me, if you would like to release some tension.”_

“No way.”

“Way!” Jon stared at Grey.

Grey stared back at Jon. Then, he lifted his glass with a grin. “Then it’s settled!”

Jon sent him a perplexed look. “What is?”

“We’re getting laid,” Grey said and shrugged.

“You say that as if it’s _obvious.”_

“I think both girls made it pretty clear, Jon.”

“They think we are _together.”_

“Mhmm, I don’t think so, mate.”

“Well, I’m not sure.” Jon turned his glass of wine in his hand as he stared out at the water, his brows furrowed. “What if,” he started, his mind working hard, “what if it’s a _test.”_

“I want you to take this the nicest way possible,” Grey said as he leaned in over the table, grabbed Jon’s hand in his, and looked him in the eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Jon tsked and pulled his hand back. “You’re not concerned because _I’m_ the one who’ll be in trouble if we’re found out,” he said, and Grey shrugged a little in acknowledgement. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, as he watched his friend sip his wine with satisfaction. “We can’t just rush into things. We need more information.”

“So, another massage?” Grey suggested with raised brows.

Jon nodded. “Another massage,” he agreed. “After all, how expensive can it be?”

* * *

Twelve hours and 125 euros later, Jon and Grey found themselves sitting in the same small massage room, ropes tied and slippers on their feet, their teeth clinking to the champagne glasses as they nervously sipped the bubbly alcohol.

“They looked surprised to see us back,” Jon commented.

“No shit - they must think we’re rolling in money.”

“Thank God this place is all inclusive, or I couldn’t afford to eat.”

“Maybe we’re being stupid. Maybe it’s a waste of money.”

“Maybe,” Jon said, but when he heard the knock on the door, he felt an excited jolt go through his body nonetheless.

“Are you ready?” Daenerys’ voice called.

Jon quickly put aside his glass, shrugged out of his robe, and climbed onto the table. “All good!” he called, watching Grey scramble the same way he had the day before. When his friend sent him an annoyed look, he grinned back with a feeling of smugness.

The door swung open. Feet crossed the floor. Music played; the whistling of birds, the sound of a gong. A scent of flowers filled the room - roses, and violets. Jon watched through the face-hole, tensely waiting until Daenerys’ hands came into sight. Today, her nails were painted dark blue. He found it soothing to look at.

“Looks like we have a massage convert,” Daenerys teased as she rubbed her hands warm with oil. Jon could hear the wet sound as her palms clapped together. It made his dream of the beach reappear in his mind, and he swallowed and quickly tried to focus on something else. But the blood in him was already boiling. He was grateful to be lying on his front. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you away.”

“Not at all,” Jon said, trying to sound casual. His voice was a bit more shaky than he’d like, and he faked a cough before adding: “I thought about what you said, about _relaxing._ This seems like a good place to do it.”

“Mhmm, so you listened, did you?” Daenerys hummed. Her hands brushed down across his shoulder-blades, and Jon shivered. She knew where to touch him, where to apply pressure, where to hold, where to _grab._ He felt his body melting beneath her warm, slick hands. “Did you listen to everything I said? About _releasing tension?”_

Jon swallowed. He peered toward Grey. His friend was lost in a quiet conversation with Missandei. He didn’t seem nervous at all anymore - rather, he was smiling, winking, mumbling sweet nothings that had Missandei blush. He wasn’t paying the slightest attention to Jon, and Jon found himself grit his teeth as he tried to read between the lines of Daenerys’ words.

She was standing close now - so close, in fact, that he was sure her uniform was brushing against his side, and her breath flickered across his nape as she grabbed a strong hold of his shoulders and gave them a good rub. He groaned as he felt his muscles move beneath her fingers. “I find that _hard,”_ he finally said, flushing at his own choice of words. “The tension, I mean. I tend to, well, _stress.”_

“I can tell.” Daenerys’ palms brushed around his neck, her thumbs reaching all the way beneath his ears, almost pulling at his lobes. It was relaxing - it was exciting. “The body doesn’t lie. You’re holding a lot in.”

“Mmhm?” Jon mumbled. His eyes had closed. He felt himself being dragged along with her movements. As was he in water, just being pulled along with the waves.

“That’s why you knot up,” Daenerys explained and gently rubbed her thumbs down his sides. “Is anything weighing on your mind?”

The ocean in Jon’s head turned into a sinkhole, swallowing him up with worries about lying and fraud and being _found out._ _All for the sake of a fuck._ His eyes snapped open. He stared down at the floor, a dribble of sweat running down his forehead. “Just-” he started, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse. Unable to think on the spot, he merely sighed: “Just _life.”_

“Of course,” Daenerys replied, her hands continuing to work their way across his back. As she didn’t say else, Jon slowly felt himself ease into her touch - until she leaned down and whispered: “That’s why you’re lucky to have such a good friend supporting you.”

“Yes,” Jon replied, followed soon by a panicked: _“Friend?”_ He glanced up at Daenerys.

Daenerys looked down at him innocently. It was only then he really saw her for the first time that morning; hair braided in a crown around her head, eyes glimmering, small nose turned slightly up, her plump lips tugged back into a soft smile. “Ah, sorry,” she said, her voice perfectly neutral, perfectly professional. “I mean _boyfriend,_ of course.” She winked.

Jon swallowed. _Does she know?_ he wondered as he sunk his face back down and Daenerys continued working on his body. _There is no way she_ doesn’t _know._ As he silently contemplated the situation, he couldn’t decide whether that would be good or bad news.

* * *

That afternoon, as Jon and Grey huddled up at the pool bar, their bodies still soft from the morning’s massage, Grey concluded: “This is stupid.” He finished his shot of vodka, waved for a second round, and impatiently watched as the bartender measured the alcohol. “I spent _an hour_ flirting with her, and yet I’m stuck here with _you.”_ He paused and lifted the glass with a nod at Jon. “No offence.” He downed it.

“None taken.” Jon surveyed his own glass of whisky. When he closed his eyes, he could still sense Daenerys’ touch - her soft hands, her warm breath, the teasing way in which she’d ask him innocent questions that left him more confused than before. Like: _have you considered a deep tissue massage? It involves a lot of stroking,_ or: _you look like you do a lot of sport, I offer special massages that’ll really get your blood flowing._

“Maybe we should just meet girls in a _normal_ way,” Grey mused. “You know, clubbing, on the beach.”

“Maybe,” Jon agreed, but when they glanced at each other, he knew: neither of them were willing to give up on their cute masseuse just yet. He sighed. He sipped his drink. “What do we do?” he asked.

“Only one thing to do,” Grey replied with a hopeless look to his eyes. He stared at Jon.

Jon stared back at him. He didn’t have to say it out loud - he instinctively knew what his friend meant.

The bartender stopped in front of them. In his hands, he held a large bowl painted like a watermelon, filled to the top with a blue cocktail, two straws, and a handful of colourful umbrellas. “For the happy couple,” he said and placed it in front of them. He lit a sparkler stuck in the middle. As Jon and Grey sat watching it, all they could see was another 125 euros burning away in the glimmering flames.

* * *

The next few days seemed to pass in a blur. The mornings were spent on the beach before the sun got so hot that Jon had to retrieve to the shade. Then, there were pre-arranged activities in the afternoon; couples yoga, where Grey sprained his ankle, and waterskiing, where Jon almost drowned, and beach volley, where both of them were ashamed to be outplayed by a local senior team consisting solely of women in their eighties. By the time they hit the spa in the afternoon, they almost agreed that they _deserved_ spending the extra cash on some unwinding.

Only to Jon, it was never _fully_ relaxing. He felt like he was stuck between enjoying himself beneath Daenerys’ skillful hands, and constantly testing whether she was interested in him or not. At times, he felt like he’d misunderstood _everything,_ like when she wished them a _romantic night,_ her smile so genuine that Jon thought she couldn’t be teasing him.

In the evening, they would eat and talk through every little conversation, dissecting the smallest of gestures as if they were detectives cracking a case. They sometimes got so into it that Jon forgot they were meant to be a couple, and only a random waiter’s romantic gesture would remind him. Like when they’d heatedly argued where was the most _erotic_ place that their masseuse had touched them, only to have a plate of heart-shaped cookies served in the same.

“Of course,” Grey had said, making sure that the server heard him, “no one touches me as well as you, babe.”

Jon couldn’t decide whether he was a genius or a fool.

It was their last day at the resort when Jon returned from a morning swim to find Grey still in bed. He was nestled up beneath the duvet, texting away on his mobile phone, when Jon stalked into the room. “I thought you’d entered a coma,” he said, throwing his towel over a chair and glancing around the space. It had been tidy and luxurious when they first arrived. Now, dirty clothes were scattered across the floor, and every surface was used for drying swimwear, leaving a damp, clammy smell in the room. There were no more mini-bottles in the fridge. The free beer had been drunk.

“Very funny,” Grey replied, still typing. “I’m staying in here today.”

Jon sent him an incredulous look. “What, in _bed?_ Are you ill?”

_“You’re_ ill,” Grey grimaced and peered up at him from above the duvet. “When you invited me along on this trip, you made it sound like a vacation.”

“Isn’t it?” Jon asked and pulled the curtains aside to reveal their view of the beach. The sun streamed hotly through the glass.

Grey pulled the duvet back over his head with a groan. “A vacation means sleeping in and partying at night. It doesn’t mean doing _water aerobics_ or _cooking classes.”_

“I told you they sent us a program.”

“Yes, but I thought it was _voluntary.”_

“It’s still been fun.”

“I’m too _poor_ to have fun,” Grey moaned and peered over the duvet once more. “What have we spent on massages so far,” he asked, “five hundred euros?”

Jon swallowed. He forced himself not to do the calculation in his head. “Something like that,” he said vaguely.

“And I’m still not on a date with Missandei. I’m done, Jon - I’m staying in today.” Grey flung himself back under the duvet. A faint glow could be seen from his phone shining through the thin, white sheet.

Jon hesitated at the foot of the bed, looking between it and the sun outside. He wasn’t particularly keen on spending money either, but he also felt weirdly _empty_ at the thought of not seeing Daenerys one last time. Images of her flickered through his mind: silver hair, violet eyes, sweet smile. Round behind. Thick thighs. Jon wiped sweat off his forehead and closed his eyes in thought. _She’s working all week,_ he reminded himself, _you won’t find her leisuring around the resort._ His fingers brushed against the credit card in his shorts. For a moment, he contemplated pulling it out and snapping it in half, making sure he would never, ever spend another dime on _aromatherapy._ And yet -

“I’m still going,” Jon said, turning resolutely on his heels to face the bed. He could see his friend stir beneath the duvet. He still didn’t get up. “I’m going to the spa, and I’m booking a massage with Daenerys. With or without you.”

Grey seemed to pause. Then, Jon heard the unmistakable sound of tapping on the screen. “See you later,” his friend said.

Jon scoffed, grabbed his mobile off the table, and headed out into the hallway. As he made his way through the hotel, he thought: _today I’m going to do it. Today I’m going to ask her out._ His fingers skipped across the screen. He held his breath as he dialed the reception. A woman picked up:

“Palace Spa, how can I help?”

“I’d like to book a full body massage,” Jon said, his voice slightly heated, “is Daenerys available today?”

* * *

There was just one table in the room.

As Jon slowly slipped out of his rope, he watched the thin sheet with hesitation. He felt sweaty. He felt parched. He felt _nervous._ He wasn’t sure why. By now, he should be a massage _expert,_ yet something about being in the space alone was _intimate._ With Grey, everything had been a bit of a joke. They could laugh about it afterwards, and boast about some random compliment they’d received, like: _you have nice calves._

_But now, it’s just me,_ Jon thought, feeling his heart skip a bit as there was a knock on the door.

Daenerys’ voice was warm: “Are you ready?” and Jon climbed onto the table, laid down, and closed his eyes as he replied:

“Yes!” _No._ He was tense as she entered the room, the beginning the same as always: slippering shoes, meditative music, scent of herbs, the taste of oils strong in the air. He licked his lips and tried to calm his heart. But the second he peered through his lashes and saw her hands - small, pale, neat, her nails white and perfectly cut - he felt out of breath.

“So,” Daenerys said, her voice soothing as she brought out her oils. The glass bottles clinked together. He could hear her choosing between them, smelling them, touching them to her fingers. “It’s just you today.”

“Just me,” Jon agreed unnecessarily. He watched her feet through the face-hole, saw how she walked back and forth between the table and her tray. She was in a white uniform today. The fabric looked new. “Grey wasn’t feeling well. That’s the guy who’s been with me,” he explained.

“Ah, yes, your boyfriend,” Daenerys nodded.

“Yes,” Jon said and paused before admitting: “I mean, _friend._ He’s my _friend.”_ He held his breath. He waited for Daenerys to react.

She hummed: “How about bergamot? It’s good when you’re feeling _stressed.”_ She poured the oil. Jon felt it trickle down his back. Her hands soon followed; smooth, and soft, and _knowing._ She was aware of his body now - every bump and scar, where he was soft and where he was hard. She moved with a greater awareness of him than he had himself.

Jon licked his teeth. He tasted disappointment in his mouth. _No reaction._ As Daenerys moved on to his shoulders, he said: “Yeah, my _friend_ would rather stay in bed.”

“Mhmm,” Daenerys replied and rubbed his nape.

Jon bent into her touch. “I hope your colleague isn’t too disappointed that _my friend_ couldn’t make it.”

“Oh, Missandei is off today,” Daenerys replied and rubbed oil down his back.

“Right.” Jon grimaced. _How much clearer can I be?_ he wondered. He could feel her moving the sheet as she continued down toward his lower back; stroking, gripping. He took in another deep breath. He started: _“My friend-”_ but Daenerys interrupted him:

“This technique is called _friction,”_ she said, gently pushing her fingertips into the same spot on his body. Jon snapped his lips shut in confusion as he just laid still and felt her work on him, smoothening his muscles out with her oils. “And this,” she said, slipping her hands back up across his back, “is called _gliding.”_

“Oh, Jon said, unsure of how to react. It was like she’d cut his thought in half - he couldn’t remember what he was saying, so instead he remained silent, his ears perked as she moved around the room, her hands never once leaving his body. The sheet crinkled below her elbows. He could feel it being pushed around, offering more space for her to work on.

_“Percussion,”_ Daenerys said, lightly tapping the sides of her hands across Jon’s back, making a shudder go through him, and: _“Rolling,”_ as she grabbed her way down, gently drawing his skin up between her nails, and: _“Kneading,”_ as she took a hold of his side and firmly worked on his muscles.

“I feel like an expert,” Jon said bemused as Daenerys summarised each technique for him whilst covering his back in oil. “I should start my own clinic.”

“Mhm, maybe you should practice first,” Daenerys smiled.

“Too bad I can’t do it by myself.”

“How about with me?”

Jon lifted his head and stared back at Daenerys. For a moment, he worried he’d fallen asleep again and imagined something. “What?” he said. His voice sounded weak.

Daenerys’ smile deepened. “How about you practice on me?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and making her silver ponytail swing about. “Unless,” she paused, and a teasing glimpse took over her eyes as she continued, “it would upset your _friend.”_

Jon’s heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to speak, but as no words came out, he snapped it shut again. _She doesn’t mean-_ he thought, but as he saw Daenerys’ fingertips slipping to the tie of her uniform, the fabric belt loose around her waist, he realised: _Yes. Yes she does._

Daenerys didn’t seem bothered by his lack of response. She dug her nails into the fabric, loosened it, and dragged the bow apart. As the shirt was about to fall open, she held onto it and sent him a saying look. “Turn away,” she asked and twirled a finger in the air as if to exemplify.

Jon quickly flipped onto his side and pointedly stared in the other direction. But he was listening intensely - every sound of fabric, every faint breath, and every little noise from her shoes as she moved and stepped about seemed to make his spine tingle. He couldn’t believe what was happening. By the time it grew quiet behind him, he had to fight the urge in him to just turn around and look at her.

Daenerys leaned onto the table. Her shadow fell softly in over his body. “May I?” she whispered, and Jon quickly shuffled off the table, allowing her the space to lie down. The sheet was stuck to his oily back. He dragged it off with a blush and tried to hand it to her over his shoulder, but she never took it. She just said: “You have to ask if I’m ready,” in a teasing tone, and Jon waved the sheet some more as he cleared his throat and mumbled:

“Are you ready?”

_“Ready.”_

Jon turned. The sheet dropped from his hand. He had to swallow to force his heartbeat back down his throat. There she was, Daenerys, and she was completely nude. In the soft light from above, her pale skin seemed to shimmer orange, from the tips of her narrow shoulders to the fleshy rounding of her behind. As he stared, her buttocks appeared to flush pink, and she scooted closer to the table, her chin resting on her arm as she watched him.

“The oil is on the tray,” she smiled.

Jon had to force his feet into movement as he slowly made his way past her, his eyes never once leaving her body. He felt like he was stuck in his fantasy again, but the oil that dribbled into his hands was real, and the warmth of her shoulders unlike his shower thoughts. He carefully closed his fingers around them. He felt almost scared to touch her.

“You have to work it,” Daenerys said, turning her face to look up at him again. As he sent her a confused look, she clarified: _“The oil._ Warm it against my skin. Try _gliding.”_

“Right,” Jon said, unable to remember any other words. _Gliding,_ however, he understood, and he gently ran his palms down across her back. It was hot to his touch. There was a light dusting of perspiration on her spine. It mixed with the oil as he covered the top of her back. He took care not to go down too low, though the cleft between her buttocks looked inviting to his eyes.

“Mhm,” Daenerys mumbled as Jon’s rough hands stroked back up between her shoulder blades, “that feels _good.”_ Her voice was a low purr.

Jon felt his cock stir between his legs, and he bit his inner cheek not to say something _dumb._ But he longed to be stupid; to flip her over, to ram into her, to feel what he’d thought about since the first time she massaged him. He was out of breath. He’d barely moved an inch, his hand leisurely touching her back.

Daenerys’ eyes closed. _“Friction,”_ she whispered.

Jon rolled his tongue across his teeth as he tried to remember where she’d touched him when she said that word. His eyes fell on the small of her back. He hesitated, then slipped his palms down as he started massaging her trim midriff.

Daenerys’ smile softened. “That’s nice,” she said.

Jon felt his cock stir once more. He was suddenly boiling hot - the room had been tempered when he walked in, but now sweat was rolling down his back. _Be cool,_ he told himself, slipping his hands to her other side as he mirrored his earlier movements, _be cool, be cool, be cool._

_“Kneading.”_

Jon licked his lips. He watched her buttocks. He hesitated.

Daenerys peered up at him through her long lashes. “Go on,” she encouraged him teasingly, “don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it.”

Jon felt his face grow hot. “When did you-”

“Do you think you’re the first _pretend couple_ to win a holiday?” Daenerys asked. She lifted her head and rested her chin in her hand, watching him bemused. “This place runs _so many_ competitions. I’ve seen exes patch up their relationship for a free trip, and friends awkwardly kissing for the required magazine photo.”

_“There’s a magazine photo?”_ Jon gawked.

Daenerys flicked her ponytail behind her shoulder and smirked at him. “Although I’ve got to admit - you’re the first to see me every day like this. Most people just break down and ask for a date.”

“And you do this with them?” Jon asked, surprised. He suddenly didn’t feel very special.

Daenerys chuckled. “No,” she said, and she reached down and grabbed his hand, leading his palm onto her buttocks as she clarified: “This is all for you, _Jon.”_

As Daenerys squeezed his hand to her ass, Jon felt his chest burn and his cock throb in his briefs. He was growing hard, more so as he started kneading her buttocks in his palms, feeling how soft they were under his moving fingers. He couldn’t believe it - she’d known all along, and he’d been too stupid to just _ask._ It made him wonder: “Would you have said yes?” He watched as she looked back at him, sucking on her lower lip and slowly bashing her lashes. He felt his face redden. “If I’d asked for a date,” he explained, “that first time. Would you-”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him.

Jon wasn’t sure whether to feel good or bad about her answer. _I’ve wasted all this time and money,_ he thought, staring down at Daenerys’ body, admiring her every curve, every dip, every shape. _And now it’s time for me to go home._

As if she could read his mind, Daenerys pushed herself up onto her elbows and gave him a saying look. “Don’t waste your time,” she said. “I’ve only got the space for another twenty minutes.” She paused and then, with the faintest of blushes, added: “And I’m not leaving until you’ve fucked me.”

For a second, Jon paused, just staring back at her, his hands still on her ass, his fingers dipped into the softness of her skin. He could return to his stressed mind, convince himself that this was another _trick. Or you can enjoy yourself,_ he thought, his gaze dragging one more time down across Daenerys’ gorgeous frame, _on your last day of vacation._

Jon breathed in. Then, he dived his head in between her buttocks. He could taste the oil and her sweat on his tongue as he ran it down her crack, all the way to her small asshole. As he kissed and licked her tight ring of muscles, he heard her moan in surprise:

“Oh God, Jon!”

It only encouraged him. He dragged her cheeks apart, his fingers slipping across her slick skin as he made more space for himself. She smelled of woman, and cunt, and excitement. It teased his tongue. It filled his nostrils. It made his cock rock hard, and he shuffled on the spot to get in a more comfortable position to lower his face between her thighs. He caught sight of the edge of her pink cunt. It was just visible between her legs. With no more need to hold back, he pushed his hand in and let his oiled fingers slide across her labia.

Daenerys was already wet. Her sex easily welcomed him inside as he pushed a finger into her warm inners. She was tight, and soft, and her clit was hard with excitement. He felt it rub against his knuckle as he sunk all the way into her.

Daenerys rocked across the table with a gasp. Her hands were clinging onto the edge as she pushed herself back to meet his licking and touch. Jon’s tongue was still teasing her ass, now rimming her with long, wet strokes as his fingers continued to fill her cunt, first one, then two, then three, stretching her in preparation for his cock. With the oil, it was easy for him to push inside of her. The paper covering the table was soon wet and tearing apart below her.

“Ah, fuck,” Daenerys whispered, her fingers continuing to claw at the table. She was almost kneeling now, attempting to have as much of Jon’s mouth on her as possible as she rolled back to meet his lips. “And here I thought you were _shy.”_

“I thought you didn’t fancy me,” Jon shot back. “Always _teasing.”_

_“Me?”_ Daenerys let go of a breathless laugh, the sound stuck in her throat as Jon’s thumb stroked across her clit in the same. She groaned and lowered herself onto his fingers, rubbing her cunt against his hand. She was drenched. Every move made a wet noise echo in the room. _“You’re_ the one coming by every day, having me touch you, and you won’t even be _nude.”_

Jon flushed and lifted his head to peer down at her. “You _wanted_ me to be nude?” he asked.

She suckled on her inner cheek as she looked back at him. Her eyes were dark with pleasure, and her cheeks pink as her gaze roamed his body. They lingered at his crotch. She didn’t answer his question, she merely instructed: _“Strip,”_ and Jon felt his cock throb painfully in the constraint of the fabric.

He only slowly pulled back, his fingers slipping from her warm cunt. Daenerys groaned as she was left wanting, and she sent him an impatient look as he grabbed around the band of his briefs, paused for a second, and then pulled them down. His cock sprung free, hard and ready, a line of precum already running down the length of his member. He gave it a stroke, coating himself in oil and her juices, and he looked back at her, almost shyly.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this,_ he thought, his heartbeat in his throat as Daenerys watched him intensely. The tip of her tongue was poking out from between her lips. When she caught his eyes, she gave him a wry smile that made him swallow with difficulty, and she scooted down the table, her legs kicking off and her toes stretching to meet the floor. She positioned herself, leaned forward, ass sticking out, her knees pushing together slightly as streams of oil started dragging down her inner thighs. She looked gorgeous. She looked fuckable.

She looked ready, throwing her silver ponytail back over her other shoulder as she said: “Fuck me, then,” her voice forced casual. But there was a tinge of breathless excitement to it that Jon caught, and it tickled his ears as he grabbed a hold of her ass with one hand, guiding his cock in between her legs with the other, pushing her labia apart, pressing inside of her heat.

Jon moaned as his cock was tightly wrapped in Daenerys’ cunt. He sunk inside with ease, her inners making space for him, her body allowing him to take her all the way. He rocked forward, filling her until his balls clapped to her soft skin. His senses were opening up - he could smell her sex, and taste the oils in the air, and hear her shivering breathing and the cracking from the table as she moved. She was trying to relax, to accommodate him. She moved beneath his hands.

“Fuck,” he heard her breathe, and he peered down at her, blinking away a droplet of sweat that had dragged across his forehead. _“Fuck.”_

“Are you good?” he asked. It was barely audible. The sounds from the CD were still filling the room with birds whistling and trees swaying in the breeze. He prayed it would drown out their noises should anyone try to listen at the door.

“Fuck,” Daenerys just replied. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and let go of a breath she’d been holding. He felt her soften under his hands. She was pushing back into his touch. “I’ve imagined this, but never-” She shook her head and sent him a restless look as she urged: “Go on.”

“Right.” Jon’s fingertips dug into her buttocks as he pulled out a bit before jerking back inside of her. The table rocked. Daenerys’ fingers clenched down around the sides as she was pressed down. She let go of a little groan. It only seemed to deepen when he repeated, rolling his hips forward to take her as deeply as before.

As Jon started fucking her in over the table, the wet noise of their skin clapping together echoed in the small space, only broken up by his grunts and Daenerys’ faint moans. She had buried her nose into the soft covering, her noises being swallowed up by the fabric. He found himself taking her at a harder pace to encourage her to be loud, to be heard, to make _noise._

Jon wasn’t sure what made him so desperate - perhaps having suppressed his desires for a week, just looking at her, just fantasising about her. Now, as he had her, he couldn’t seem to get enough, and he started letting his hands stoke up across her buttocks, down the small of her back, gliding along her sides until he could push beneath her. He closed his palms at her breasts. As he squeezed them, Daenerys pushed her head to the side, drew in a heated breath, and let go of a low, needy moan.

“Pinch them,” she whispered.

Jon closed his fingers around her nipples and squeezed, feeling how the pink buds hardened at his touch.

Daenerys moaned again and arched her back, as if wanting to escape from him and push into him all at once. “Again,” she demanded, “and fuck me - _hard.”_

Jon complied; he closed his fingertips around her nipples and gave them a tight pinch as he roughly pushed into her, forcing her cunt to take him in a few quick, hard fucks. He sensed she should tense at his movements, but instead she seemed to soften under his touch, her slick body becoming warm and wet and flexible, giving itself to his every whim.

_Shit._ Jon was dripping sweat. He could hear his heart in his ears, feel the rushing of blood filling his cock. He thought he was already rock hard. He still sensed his member prickling, his balls tightening, as if he was preparing himself for more. Perhaps his body knew before his mind, because when Daenerys next rolled onto her elbows and threw her head back, it was with a desperate gasp:

“Could you finger me?”

Jon, still tightly embedded in her cunt, gave her a blank stare.

Daenerys looked back at him. He could tell she wanted to appear demanding and in control. Yet her lips trembled too much for her to maintain the aura of power. “My ass,” she clarified, “while you fuck me.”

Jon didn’t reply. He wasn’t even sure he’d remember any words to speak. He just watched as his hands glided back down her sides, over her ass, between her cheeks. He held her open with one palm, the fingers of the other stroking across her tight asshole. Oil was nestled in her crack. He dragged it down, soaked his fingers in it, and then pushed inside of her.

The groan that escaped Daenerys’ lips was _incredible._ Jon felt his cock throb deep inside of her as he pressed a finger into the heat of her ass. With the lubrication, he met no resistance, and Daenerys seemed to drag him inside, her muscles pulling at him to fill her up.

“Shit,” she whispered, her teeth clenched tight. _“One more.”_

Jon thrusted into her and, in the same, plunged another finger past the ring of muscles. He could feel her reaction around his cock - her sex clamped down around him, tugged at him, made him wet with her juices. “God,” he mumbled in amazement, unable to comprehend the situation before him. She was a tease - and a dirty one at that. It was more than he’d imagined. It was more that he’d fantasised about.

Yet, when Daenerys rocked back onto his cock and fingers, sending him a pleading look as she asked: “Do you want to fuck my ass?” - he knew it was everything he wanted.

Jon pulled out of her cunt with a groan. The air in the room seemed much colder than her willing body, and he snapped a string of her juices from his cock as he positioned himself between her buttocks. She was warm, and wet - and impatient. She urged:

“We don’t have much ti-” but Jon interrupted her as he pushed forward, the fat head of his cock pressing into her tight ass.

Daenerys’ cunt had been tight, but her ass clenched him in a different way. The way her body grabbed onto him, both dragging him further inside of her and pushing him out at once, made him feel like he was being jerked off. She was wet with oil. She was tense with excitement.

She was moaning; her head rolled back, her ponytail coming undone, and she groaned: “Oh fuck, Jon, _yes!”_ as he sunk deeper into her, invading her tightness until he was fully embedded in her ass.

Jon could feel her body stretching and working around him. His hold on her buttocks tightened, his fingertips growing white and her skin blushing pink from his grip. He knew he should relax, calm down, and take his time. But he found himself unwilling to pause, eagerly dragging the thick length of his cock back before pushing into her, slamming his cock into her heat. He moaned in pleasure at the sensation of her body submitting itself to him. “Oh _God.”_

He knew he wouldn’t be able to last long. It was obvious that neither would Daenerys - the way she was growling and groaning, grasping onto anything within reach whilst at the same time rocking into his cock, desperate for her body to be taken. It was a show of pure pleasure to Jon. He watched her with quiet satisfaction as he started picking up his pace, fucking her ass as he had her cunt - with long, deep, hard thrusts.

Their bodies were slick with oil. The room smelled of sex, and sweat. The creaking from the table was becoming louder, the legs groaning every time Jon picked up his pace, dragging Daenerys body on and off his cock with ease. She was growing weak, her lips parted in a constant, panting moan that was making drool dribble down her chin.

_“Shit,”_ Jon hissed as he saw it, air stuck in his throat, “you’re going to make me come looking like that.”

“Come inside of me,” Daenerys urged, her voice low, but her eyes full of determination as she peered back at him. Her hands were weakly grabbing the table. Her knees shivered as she pushed them together, trying to make herself tighter for his cock. “And _touch me.”_

Jon wrapped his arm around her, dipped his hand between her legs, and started rubbing her clit as he continued to fuck her ass. She was so wet that it was hard for him to keep her still, his fingers slipping between her labia, sinking into her cunt.

But it was the right move - he’d only just thrusted a second finger into her sex when she shivered and groaned: _“Yes!”_ and, with a flick from his thumb across her clit, came.

Jon felt it like a shudder through his cock. He was pushing inside of her when the orgasm rolled across her body, made her muscles tighten, and forced his cock into a strong hold. It was like she was trying to keep him inside her shivering heat. It was all it took to send him over the edge.

With a groan, Jon came, filling her ass with his cum. He rolled his hips forward, his body falling down atop of hers, pinning her to the table as he came, over and over, his throbbing cock only slowly softening inside of her. By the time he pulled out, sperm was dripping out of her pink hole.

As they both gasped for air, Jon leaned against the table, shaking sweat off his forehead. When Daenerys peered back at him, her cheeks red and her chin still wet with drool, she sent him a small smile, and Jon returned it, a look of incredulity on his face.

“Did we just do that?” he asked, still breathless.

Daenerys swallowed and tried to look casual as she straightened up. “I think so,” she said. Her arm folded over her breast.

Jon grabbed her uniform off the floor and blindly pushed it into her hands. “Here,” he said. He wasn’t sure why, but despite the rush of excitement still buzzing through his body, he felt almost shy to look at her. As she dressed, he averted his eyes and slipped on his own briefs. They were immediately soaked with oil and cum. The scent of Daenerys lingered on the elastic band. Jon wondered if it would ever wash off. He somehow hoped not.

“I wish I could stay,” Daenerys said, and when he turned to look at her, he found her eyes watching him gently. She was correcting her ponytail. It did little difference - even with her hair in perfect condition, it was obvious that _something_ had happened, from the crinkles in her uniform to the wet patches forming at her crotch. Oil still clung onto her cheeks. She tried to wipe them off in her sleeve. “But-”

“I know,” Jon said to spare her the discomfort. He too tried to act nonchalant as he pulled on his robe and nodded, “the time is up.”

“I’m working until eight,” Daenerys said, closing a button in her uniform as she peered at him though her lashes. “But perhaps you would have time to meet then for dinner? Drinks?” She paused. “Maybe _more?”_

Jon had to work hard not to have a big grin take over his lips. He smiled instead. “That sounds nice,” he said, and he saw her smiling back at him.

“Okay then,” she said, picking up the tray of oils. Her hands were still trembling a bit. The glass bottles clinked together as she brushed past him. “I’ll see you then. Oh, and Jon?” She paused at the door, looking back at him over her shoulder.

Jon glanced at her. “Yes?”

Daenerys smirked. “No need to bring your, ah, _friend,”_ she winked.

“Right,” Jon said, and he watched with red cheeks as she took her leave.

_Friend._ He’d happily forgotten all about his little _play pretend,_ but as he showered and dressed, the thought of Grey troubled his mind. How was he going to explain to him that he’d managed to hook up with his masseuse - and that she wanted to see him again that very night? He ran over different scenarios in his head, some in which Grey angrily accused him of ruining his chances at Missandei by hooking up with her colleague, others where he congratulated him on being persistent.

None of the scenarios, however, involved what greeted him in the hotel room.

As Jon swung the door open and announced: “I’m back!” he was surprised to find not just Grey lounging in bed - but next to him a naked Missandei. The woman screamed in surprise and rolled herself up into the duvet whilst Grey just stared at him in shock, apparently frozen into place.

“You’re back already?” Grey said, sounding stunned.

Jon quirked his brows. “I’ve been gone for over _two_ _hours.”_ His gaze flickered between Missandei’s red face and Grey’s pale cheeks as he said: “I can guess what you’ve been up to.”

“Yeah, well, I’d say it’s not what it looks like,” Grey started before smirking, “but it _totally is.”_

“Shut up,” Missandei begged, elbowing him.

Jon felt relief fill his chest. At least neither of them had to pretend anymore. Still, he shook his head theatrically as he announced: “I’ll leave you two to it,” and closed the door behind him. With a feeling of glee, he set off down the hallway and back toward the spa. After all, maybe he could fit one more private session in before eight o’clock.

**Author's Note:**

> This might be the stupidest thing I have ever written - and I wrote 'Sex in the Cities'! Anyway, I hope some of you enjoyed the humour in this one! I really do love the idea of Jon and Grey being best mates and getting into trouble together. I also love them encouraging each other to do the most ridiculous things, like trying to get laid with your masseuse. But hey - they managed!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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